Red
by Calm77
Summary: To Nanaki red is the color of humanity.


_Red_

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: I like Red XIII, I don't know why I just do. Enjoy.

They come with starry eyes, all of them .Travelers from far and wide, from Bone Village and North Corel, from Kalm and Nibelheim they come. Once the roads were clogged with humanity, heading to the same place for the same reason. To Cosmo Canyon to hear the tales. The dust they kicked up became an eerie reddish fog like the spray of blood in the air. Nanaki thinks of the kills made once, long ago.

Time has lessened their number. The sand in the hourglass is winding down, from a torrential flood to a slow trickling stream. Nanaki smells it in the wind. His time grows shorter, his duty is almost fulfilled. Soon he too will return to the dust. He hopes when he does it will be red, like blood in the air.

_Remember_ he has been told. Tell the strangers passing by what has occurred, honor those who fought. Its almost complete. The legends have spread, the Planet's salvation will never be forgotten. And yet it already has. Mothers read them as bedtime stories, warn children if they don't behave Sephiroth will get them. Boys hope to be as brave as Cloud Strife or as mysterious as Vincent Valentine. Girls to be as valiant as Aeris Gainsborough, as caring as Tifa Lockheart, as carefree as Yuffie Kisaragi.

None remember the suffering, pain, and loss.

The few who come now have starry eyes, innocent of all the spilled blood. It gives Nanaki a strange satisfaction to watch them as he tells the real tales, answers the hard questions. Watch as the shining light in their eyes dims in horror. As their innocence is tainted.

He is tired of innocence like theirs now. Tired of those who can't look past their own barriers to see what the legends are really about. Five hundred years is a long time. Nanaki knows it better than any. But tragedy has not changed since then, _humanity_ has not changed. It still sees the cruel and does nothing about it. Still stands aside for _someone else_ to help.

The dust clouds made by the swarm of travelers once became dust storms one summer and half the crops were lost. Cosmo Canyon nearly starved that winter. The river ran red. It felt like a battlefield once the bodies were buried. He misses the battlefield and then scolds himself for it.

Nanaki knows his thoughts are unfair, tinged with a melancholy he cannot shake. But he wants them to know truth, give respect where it belongs, not pity or blind adoration. Such things mean nothing. Only gods deserve such complete adoration. AVALANCHE would never want to be remembered as gods.

The one wing on Sephiroth's back was black as night. Nanaki remembers how it seemed all the color had drained out of him so even his eyes were a washed out green despite the glow. How sad it would be to live in a world without color. He remembers how much he pitied the man.

No, AVALANCHE fought to prevent such a god. Their remembrance should be as they were - real, tough, bleeding, and torn survivors.

Red seemed such a bright color splashed across all the black and white which called itself Sephiroth. The fog of red in the air created a strange outline against the stark figure. Humanity brought color, Nanaki reasons. Gods do not bleed.

So he tells it again and again. Records it on paper in quiet flowing script. Waits for the forged fire of respect to appear in his listener's eyes where only naivete shone before. The stars are far far away even if they do burn with amazing brightness, but the flames of the Eternal Fire in Cosmo Canyon do the warming at night. The stars are cold, stark things. Nanaki will always adore the stars but it's the flame he feels more akin to.

When the words finally sink in his listeners are always shocked. How could the heroes be unhappy? They're the heroes! They had everything!

Nanaki will wait for them to blush and stammer, embarrassed to realize their heroes had not had everything. Had possessed even less than the ones they saved. Remind them not all the heroes were unhappy. Cid got his lifelong dream, his ship, and his wife. Yuffie would still be the Flower of Wutai. Nanaki himself would have his Canyon unscathed.

But they'd never have it all. Cid would never see space again. Wutai would remain a languishing country, prosperous but never the arrogant warrior nation it once was. Cosmo Canyon would spend many winters on the edge of starvation. Still they have more than others. Tifa, he feels, lost the most. Cloud died not long after the last fight with Sephiroth, whatever Hojo had done finally catching up with him. Tifa would never have the life she wanted, the family she'd dreamed of. Vincent would disappear not long after Deepground's defeat. Perhaps he sleeps with his demons still, but Nanaki does not think so. He had made the man promise to sleep where Nanaki could guard him. Vincent was a man of his word. Barret never remarried, the quiet life never his again. Marlene died with him in a mine collapse. At least he did not go alone.

Dead. Buried. Gone. Returned to the dust. Nanaki can smell them in the air, each as he remembers - Cloud's smell of leather, steel, and mako mixed with evergreen. Yuffie's perfume of green tea, incense, and gardenias. He'd known Cloud had died the day he'd woken to smell him on the wind. Three days later the news came. The only one missing is his own.

_We were not happy_ he'll say to the rapt gathering of listeners _but I know none of us regretted it in the end._ Again he will see the surprise shoot across their faces like the sudden falling of a star. Happiness itself is equally as fleeting he thinks.

There's more to life than simply happiness. Nanaki wonders if any of his child-like listeners will understand. Even if they don't he'll still keep telling. What we have done has _mattered_ he thinks. It's honor and accomplishment plain and simple. The blank stares he receives don't surprise him, only those who have faced death knowing they are the last hope and they will give their all can understand. Knowing it mattered means more to Nanaki than all the quiet years he has spent living contently. He'll not trade it for anything, even happiness.

The smell of them is still strong in the breeze and Nanaki can still see the red dust rising from the feet of his disappearing travelers. He thinks of how blood is everywhere. Red. To him it's the color of humanity. When he dies he hopes his dust will be red.

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